Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoléd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded infant's hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Longer dare abide, Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damnéd crew. So, when the sun in bed Curtain'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teeméd star Hath fixed her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending; Bright harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. Milton. LESSON XCV.-THE BROOK. I come from haunts of coot and hern, And sparkle out among the fern, By thirty mills I hurry down, I chatter over stony ways, I chatter, chatter, as I flow I wind about and in and out, And here and there a foamy flake With many a silvery water-break I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I move the sweet forget-me-nots I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses, LESSON XCVI.-RAIN IN SUMMER. How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout! Across the window pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain! The sick man from his chamber looks At the twisted brooks; He can feel the cool Breath of each little pool; His fevered brain Grows calm again, And he breathes a blessing on the rain. From the neighbouring school Come the boys, With more than their wonted noise And commotion; And down the wet streets Sail their mimic fleets, In the country on every side, Where far and wide, Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide, To the dry grass and the drier grain In the furrowed land The toilsome and patient oxen stand; The clover-scented gale, And the vapours that arise From the well-watered and smoking soil. For this rest in the furrow after toil Their large and lustrous eyes Seem to thank the Lord, More than man's spoken word. Near at hand, From under the sheltering trees, The farmer sees His pastures and his fields of grain, As they bend their tops To the numberless beating drops Of the incessant rain. He counts it as no sin That he sees therein Only his own thrift and gain.-Longfellow. LESS. XCVII.—EARTH'S VOICES. The leaf-tongues of the forest, and the flower-lips of the sod, The birds that hymn their raptures in the ear of God, The summer-wind that bringeth music o'er land and sea, Have each a voice that singeth this sweet song of songs to me: "This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love.” Night's starry tendernesses dower with glory evermore, Morn's budding-bright melodious hour comes sweetly as of yore; But there be million hearts accurst, where no sweet sunbeams shine, And there be million hearts athirst for love's immortal wine. This world is full of beauty, as angel-worlds above, And if we did our duty it might be full of love. Gerald Massey. LESS. XCVIII.-LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky |